


Commencement

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Childhood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-28
Updated: 2007-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Angela attend Nathan’s commencement</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commencement

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://heroes-las.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://heroes-las.livejournal.com/)**heroes_las**.

“Peter! Sit up, for God’s sake,” Angela said wearily. “You’re wrinkling your jacket.”

 

Peter squirmed more or less upright, trying to find a more comfortable position in the folding chair. His legs were plenty long enough to reach the ground, but he kicked under the chair anyway, swinging his legs like he was much younger than his eleven years. The speaker at the podium called another name, shook another hand, and Peter noticed restless shifting even among the rows of seated graduates, homogenous in their caps and gowns.

 

“Stop it.” Angela reached over to brush Peter’s bangs aside, but they fell right back over his eyes the moment she pulled her hand away. “Schedule him a haircut,” she said to herself.

 

For a moment Peter wished his dad had been able to come today. Dad wouldn’t complain about his hair. Then again Dad probably wouldn’t notice him at all. Peter sighed and pulled at his tie. Out here in the May sunshine it was too hot for a jacket and tie, but that hadn’t stopped his mother from choosing him an outfit that would “make the right impression,” whatever that was.

 

Angela, for her part, was pristine in her tan cotton dress-suit. She looked neither sweaty nor restless, but cool, collected, and beautiful, as every Petrelli except Peter managed to do effortlessly. She was every inch the proud mother, but Peter knew he wasn’t the one she was proud of. Today, as usual, Peter was just an accessory, a particularly ill-behaved lap dog. Today was for Nathan.

 

When Nathan had walked across the stage, Angela had instructed Peter to sit still. They weren’t supposed to clap until the end, she’d said. That seemed unfair to Peter, but when Nathan shook hands with the president of the university, Peter saw how his mother positively beamed, glowing in a way that never happened when she looked at Peter.

 

But Nathan had gone back to his seat long ago, and now the man at the podium was  
calling, “Gretchen Zimmerman.” As Peter tried to ignore the sweat creeping down his neck, a new thought occurred to him.

 

“Do you think I could be like that someday?” Peter whispered to his mother.

 

“You won’t get into Harvard if you don’t get your grades up, Peter,” she said absently.

 

“No, I mean… I have a destiny, don’t I?”

 

Angela looked at him sharply. “Why would you say that, Peter?”

 

The man at the podium boomed, “We now give our warmest congratulations to the class of 1991!” Around them, a cheer went up from the crowd as the new graduates threw their mortarboards in the air.

 

“I dunno,” Peter muttered, turning away from his mother towards the chaos of the post-graduation procession.

 

Angela wouldn’t be deterred so easily. “Peter.” She grabbed him by the chin and made him look up at her. “Who’s been talking to you about destiny?”

 

“No one.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, young man.” Even through the rumble of the crowd, her voice cut right into Peter as it always did, making it impossible to disobey.

 

“Not lying,” he said. “Just thinking.”

 

Angela looked at him expectantly until he went on.

 

“Last night I heard Dad telling Nathan about how he has a great destiny, and he’s never said anything about mine.” Then, under his breath, “He never says anything to me.” Angela gave a disapproving sniff, and Peter hurried on. “Nathan does all these great things and I’m always just…” Peter shrugged helplessly. “Me.”

 

Angela laid her hands firmly on his shoulders. “Peter, you are a Petrelli.” She put such meaning into the word that Peter felt his spine straighten in response. “You are meant for great things.” Her eyes lifted, swiftly scanning the faces around them before returning to Peter. “You’ll never be like your brother, but you don’t need to be. Your destiny is different.”

 

“But I do have one?” he asked tentatively.

 

Angela’s face softened, and she pulled him into her arms. “Of course you do.” She held him for a long moment, and Peter wondered if he’d said something wrong.

 

Then the moment was over, and Angela was holding him at arms length again. “What a crowd. Go find your brother and bring him back here.” Peter nodded, glad to have something to do, and darted off through the swarm of milling graduates and their families.

 

Angela watched him go. “Peter.” She closed her eyes, briefly pressing her hand to her chest to stem the ache there. When she opened her eyes again, she’d lost sight of Peter in the press of the crowd. “You’ll have your destiny, Peter.” Angela forced herself to stop looking for Peter, to turn away from where he’d gone. “But I hope you’ll forgive us,” she whispered, and it was almost a prayer.


End file.
